Page 36 of Over the Edge

Jesus. Everytime we touched was hotter, and my cock was already painfully hard. I was desperate to get her under me, to pin her to the bed, and swallow her cries as I sank deep into her pussy.

This wasn’t just about wanting her anymore. This was about need. Raw. Visceral. The kind that bypassed thought entirely.

“I hated it,” she whispered against my mouth. “I hated his hands on me.”

Something dark and possessive surged through me. I backed her toward the bed. “Then let me erase him.”

Her eyes flashed with heat and anger all at once. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“Tell me to stop then,” I challenged, my voice rough even to my own ears. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

She didn’t. Instead, she yanked me down, her mouth crashing against mine with bruising force. There was nothing gentle about the way she kissed me—all teeth and tongue and desperation—and I matched her ferocity, backing her toward the bed until her knees hit the edge.

We fell together, a tangle of limbs and half-shed clothing. Her dress hiked up around her thighs as I settled between them, the heat of her burning through my pants. I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, breaking the kiss to look down at her.

“Did he touch you here?” I asked, trailing my free hand along her collarbone.

She shook her head, breath coming in short, sharp pants.

“Here?” My fingers skimmed the curve of her breast through the silk of her dress.

“No.”

I lowered my head, pressing my lips to the pulse hammering in her throat. “Tell me where, princess.”

“My thigh.”

I growled against her throat, then slid down her body, pushing her dress higher until I found the spot. “Here?” I pressed my lips to her inner thigh, just above her knee, my stubble scraping against her soft skin.

She nodded, her breath catching.

“Then I’ll start here.” I nipped at her flesh, then soothed the sting with my tongue. I wouldn’t leave a mark—not where anyone else could see it—but I needed to reclaim every inch Moreau had touched. Replace his cold, calculating fingers with heat. With need. With something real.

Her thighs trembled as I worked my way higher, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle bites. When I reached the edge of her panties—black silk, barely there—I looked up, caught her watching me with those green eyes gone dark with desire.

I hooked my finger around the damp fabric and pulled it aside, revealing her glistening folds. She was wet for me, all slick heat and need. I couldn’t help the groan that escaped me.

“Fuck, Lyric.”

Her hips shifted restlessly. “Flynn, please...”

The pleading in her voice sent a fresh surge of blood to my already painfully hard cock. I wanted to take my time with her, to worship every inch of her body until Moreau’s touch was nothing but a forgotten nightmare. But the hunger in her eyes told me she needed something else right now. Something primal.

I dragged my tongue through her center in one long, slow stroke, savoring her taste. Sweet and tangy and addictive. Her back arched off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips. I gripped her thighs, holding her open for me as I devoured her, circling her clit with deliberate pressure before sucking it between my lips.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling almost to the point of pain as I circled her clit with my tongue. I loved that edge of violence in her touch—the way she wasn’t afraid to take what she wanted, to direct me where she needed me most.

“Right there,” she gasped, arching into my mouth. “God, don’t stop.”

I had no intention of stopping. Not until she came undone beneath me, until she couldn’t remember anyone’s touch but mine. I slid two fingers inside her, curling them to find that sweet spot that made her hips buck against my mouth. Her walls clenched around my fingers as I pumped them in and out, matching the rhythm of my tongue against her clit.

“Flynn,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I’m close?—”

A sudden, sharp ping cut through the room like a bullet.

“Fuck,” I growled against her thigh, pressing my forehead there for just a moment as we both froze. My fingers were still buried inside her, her body trembling on the edge of release.

I pulled back, meeting her eyes. They were wide, pupils blown with desire and frustration. The tracker pinged again, more insistent.

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